Charles Stevens, however, had a better heart, and was a truer Christian than many of those sanctimonious critics, who sought to restrain the joy and gladness with which God filled his soul. It was this good Samaritan who came upon the suffering stranger whom the three Puritans had condemned in their own minds as an emissary of the devil. "Why do you sit here, sir?" Charles asked, leaving off his whistle. "Night is coming on, and it is growing so chill and cold, you must keep moving, or surely you will perish." "I cannot rise," was the answer. "Cannot rise! prythee, what ails you, friend?" "I am sick, sore and wounded." "Wounded!" cried Charles, "and sick, too!" [Illustration: "Cannot rise! Prythee, what ails you, friend?"] His sharp young eyes were enabled to penetrate the deepening shades of twilight, and he saw a ghastly pallor overspreading the man's face, who, pressing his hand upon his side, gave vent to gasps of keen agony. His left side was stained with blood. "You are wounded!" Charles Stevens at last declared. "Pray, how came it about?" "I was fired upon by an unseen foe, for what cause I know not, as, being a stranger in these parts, I have had no quarrel." "Come, let me help you to rise." "No, it is useless. I am tired and too faint to go further. Let me lie here. I will soon be dead, and all this agony will be over." At this, the cheerful mind of Charles Stevens asserted itself by inspiring hope in the heart of the fainting stranger. "No, no, my friend, never give up. Don't say die, so long as you live. It is but a few rods further to the home where I live with my mother. I can help you walk so far, and there you can get rested and warmed, and mother will dress your wound." "Can I go?" the traveller asked. "Men can do wonders when they try." "Then I will try." "I will help you." The boy threw his strong arm around the man and raised him to his feet; but his limbs no longer obeyed his will, and he sank again upon the ground. "It is of no avail, my good boy. I cannot go. Leave me to die." Charles turned his eyes about to look for the stranger's horse; but it had strayed off in the darkness. To search for him would be useless, and for a moment the good Samaritan stood as if in thought; then, stripping off his coat and wrapping it around the wounded man, he said hopefully: "I will be back soon, don't move," and he hurried away swiftly toward home. On reaching the threshold, he thanked God that he was not a wanderer on such a night.